


Five things Sawyer doesn't miss

by kangeiko



Category: Lost
Genre: 5 Things, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-03
Updated: 2006-09-03
Packaged: 2017-10-08 17:24:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kangeiko/pseuds/kangeiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For eye_of_a_cat.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Five things Sawyer doesn't miss

**Author's Note:**

> For eye_of_a_cat.

1\. One day, when Sawyer was maybe ten or twelve - he doesn't really remember, only that he wasn't quite as tall as he'd have liked - he hunkered down behind a fence in his foster home's yard, carefully uncovering his stash of baseball cards from beneath a large mossy rock. He'd learned to wrap them in cellophane after the first few died from mildew, and he'd carried them faithfully from one foster home to another, always carefully burying them.

The first baseball card he actually remembers was probably one that he'd had for years and didn't actually buy himself. The soft-spoken lady from Social Services had tucked it into his pocket along with a toy car the day they'd come to take him away from his grandparent's house, so he thinks that maybe it was something that his dad had bought for him. He doesn't even remember the player on it now, only that it had been a Donruss card and not Topps, and that it had somehow been significant because of it.

Of course, it disappeared within a day of him arriving at his new foster home, so that was that.

Sawyer learned from that, though, and never let it be said that he didn't learn fast. The next card he got with the scant allowance he was given for mowing the lawn and taking out the rubbish he hid beneath a loose brick in the back garden. That one he remembered: Donruss, and glossy, and it still smelled of the bubblegum it came with. That card was the one he lost to mildew, and the bubblegum with it. All right; he did it another way.

By the time age ten - or maybe it was twelve, he supposes that it doesn't really matter that much - came rolling 'round, he'd gathered a piece of cellophane and wrapped his cards carefully, tucking them beneath the loose dirt under a large stone by the unpainted fence. His task next week would be to paint the fence, and he'd maybe be given some money for that, although he wouldn't be holding his breath. For now, though, he just wanted to_ look_ at the cards a little; to maybe touch the glossy coating to his skin for a minute and inhale the smell of bubblegum. He really, really misses bubblegum. It's bad for his teeth, or somesuch, and so this foster mother doesn't like him spending his money on it or on the cards that come with it. He doesn't see what the big deal is; it's not like he's going to be around for long enough for her ban to actually make a difference in his life.

He wonders later if he maybe heard the boy scream, or if he just heard the dull 'thunk' of a fist landing on soft flesh. Either way, he remembers that he wasn't tall enough to peer over the fence, and maybe it was for the best. Instead, he peered in between the cracks, squinting 'til he could make out the two large boys beating on the smaller kid. 'Smaller' being relative to Sawyer, of course, 'cause they all looked much older; maybe all the way up to Junior High age. He remembers that he must have still been holding the cards in his hand, because he managed to bend one as he leaned against the fence, his mouth puckered into an expression of surprise. The two larger boys were beating on the smaller one pretty bad, and they kept on screaming insults at him - fag, and queer, and other ones he didn't understand. He didn't really understand 'fag' or 'queer' either, but he knew that they must be bad, and that if the smaller boy was indeed any of those things, he must have deserved it. Except that - well - the larger boys didn't seem to be like they were doing God's work, or any of the other stuff his foster father had talked about when he'd talked about fags and queers and homi-se-ssuals. They just looked like great big bullies.

Sawyer tucked his cards back beneath the rock, and went inside. He didn't tell anyone about the boy being beat on in next door's yard, and didn't do anything about the crease in his baseball card.

It's frickin' weird, and Sawyer'd never admit it to anyone who asked, but he's kinda glad that he doesn't have to worry about anything like that here. Not that he'd be targeted himself because, hey, _not_ gay, or even any of those many names he'd actually made an effort to not use. But, still. Hypothetical-like. It's nice to know. The island's driving everyone all kinds of batshit crazy, but no one's thrown a punch at anyone over anything like that. The Red Beret wouldn't, and Dr Feelgood wouldn't, and Locke - well, who the hell knows what _that_ motherfucker would do, but somehow beating on someone over preference doesn't strike Sawyer as likely.

So, yeah. He could, and no one would make an issue of it.

You know. If he was into that.

*

2\. Come to think of it, sawyer doesn't miss houses or next door's yard or fences or any of that shit, either. Usually 'cause it belonged to the mark's stupid husband, and he'd only be in the house for long enough to get the mortgage payment fund right out from under them, or maybe 'cause he's never quite shaken off the feeling that next door's yard is a bad place to be.

Whatever. A tent on the beach suits him just fine.

*

  
3\. Sob stories. He doesn't _do_ sob stories, or long, intricate tales of woe, but that's part and parcel of the job, sometimes. More than once he's had to sit through the long spiel of "why my husband is a dick and it's not cheating, it's saving our marriage."

Yeah. Right.

At least on the island when Freckles finally gives in and crawls into his tent, she ain't likely to wanna cry on his shoulder first.

*

  
4\. Christmas. Thanksgiving. The 4th of frickin' July, for fuck's sake. It's not like anyone is keeping accurate count of the days on the island, but even if they were, there isn't anything much they can do to make it into a festive season of who the fuck cares.

*

  
5\. This one's a mite complicated, but he doesn't really miss the con - long or otherwise - all that much, despite what anyone thinks.

Or maybe not so complicated. He knows that it'll be right there, waiting for him when he gets back.

*

fin

 


End file.
